When love, being weary, made an end
Of kind expressions to his friend,
He writ; when hand could write no more,
He gave the seal—and so left o'er.
When love, being weary, made an end
Of kind expressions to his friend,
He writ; when hand could write no more,
He gave the seal—and so left o'er.
When love, being weary, made an end
Of kind expressions to his friend,
He writ; when hand could write no more,
He gave the seal—and so left o'er.
(By the way, what a mercy that he never noticed the jingle in posse of ending 'expressions' and beginning 'impressions.')
How your account of the actors in the 'Love's Labour Lost' amused me! I rather like, though, the notion of that steady, business-like pursuit of love under difficulties; and the sobbing proves something surely! Serjt. Talfourd says—is it not he who says it?—'All tears are not for sorrow.' I should incline to say, from my own feeling, that no tears were. They only express joy in me, or sympathy with joy—and so is it with you too, I should think.
Understand that I do not disbelieve in Mesmerism—I only object to insufficient evidence being put forward as quite irrefragable. I keep an open sense on the subject—ready to be instructed; and should have refused such testimony as Miss Martineau's if it had been adduced in support of something I firmly believed—'non tali auxilio'—indeed, so has truth been harmed, and only so, from the beginning. So, I shall read what you bid me, and learn all I can.
I am not quite so well this week—yesterday some friends came early and kept me at home—for which I seem to suffer a little; less, already, than in the morning—so I will go out and walk away the whirring ... which is all the mighty ailment. As for 'Luria' I have not looked at it since I saw you—which means, saw you in the body, because last night I saw you; as I wonder if you know!
Thursday, and again I am with you—and you will forget nothing ... how the farewell is to be returned? Ah, my dearest, sweetest Ba; how entirely I love you!
May God bless you ever—
R.